


Red Dress

by my_soliloquy_chamber



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag, Cannibalism, Creepy, Damsels in Distress, Gen, Horror, Imprisonment, Strong Female Characters, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_soliloquy_chamber/pseuds/my_soliloquy_chamber
Summary: When blown off course by a storm, Privateer Benjamin Hornigold comes upon a nightmare ship in the middle of the vast empty sea.
Kudos: 4





	Red Dress

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little story written for Halloween and it aims to be a bit creepy.
> 
> Ben Hornigold’s dialogue is a bit pompous and oratory. This is because he’s telling the story and thus altering what he said, or how he said it.
> 
> Stays are a type of corset that were common at the time. They were in two halves and laced together front and back.  
> A shift was the long, nightgown-esque garment worn under the stays.

* * *

* * *

  
  
It was a dark and stormy night…

  
  
Well, early afternoon, really.

Hornigold, Thatch, and Kenway had planned a joint raid on a nearby plantation, but the storm had driven them to port in Tortuga. The clouds lay heavy, making the day dark and gloomy, the wind and rain whipping around them seemed much colder than usual for the Bahamas, and the men clutched their coats tight around themselves, hurrying to the nearest tavern to seek shelter. Predictably, the room was packed full of people sharing their predicament, and Kenway wondered if it wouldn’t do them good to venture deeper into Tortuga in search of a shelter with more space.

His companions were scanning the crowd for familiar faces to share a table with, and he was just about to suggest leaving when Ben leaned close to Thatch. “Look. In the corner.” Kenway followed their gazes to a table at the far back of the tavern. It was situated in a dark corner, the crowds pushing all around, but leaving a respectful empty space around the table. The sole occupant seemed to be a woman, but it was difficult to tell in the low light.

Ben and Thatch shared a meaningful glance, and Thatch began to make his way through the crowd to the table. Before Kenway could follow, Ben clapped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him towards the bar. “Come on, Kenway. Let’s get drinks.” Making their way to the bar was a challenge in the unyielding crowd, but they made it and Ben caught the barkeep’s attention while Kenway turned to look for Thatch. He had reached the table, and was leaning in to kiss the cheek of the person sitting there.

Hornigold smacked him on the shoulder to get his attention and piled his arms high with bottles and empty tankards. Ben himself carried several flagons of ale and it seemed his plan was for them to not have to get back up once they sat down. Making their way carefully through the crowd, they reached the table and Kenway saw that it was indeed a woman seated there. As they arrived, Thatch and the woman stood and helped them set their bounty on the table.

Hands now free, Ben reached out and shook the woman’s hand. “It’s good to see you again. Selinda, meet Edward Kenway. Our protégé and newly Captain in our brethren of pirates.”

She was a beautiful woman. Looked to be older than himself, but younger than Thatch and Ben. Dark hair, olive skin, and shrewd, chestnut brown eyes. Almost as tall as he, and with a strong, powerful build, he was sure she could easily hold her own in a fight. Ordinarily, Kenway would have fired up a charming grin and done something stupid, like kiss her hand and comment on her beauty. _Ordinarily_ , that would work very well on any woman he was introduced to by Ben, but his friends’ serious, almost formal demeanor signaled clearly that any attempt at flirting would go over badly.

“Nice to meet you.” He reached out his hand and received a firm shake. No slack, loose, grip like a dead fish, she shook like he was used to men shaking hands, hard and firm and ‘if you push me I’ll try to crush the bones in my grip’.

“Likewise.” She didn’t really look like she meant it, but also not like she bore hostility towards him. She’d been seated alone and undisturbed by the rowdy crowd when they entered and probably wanted it that way, but had now reluctantly made room for her… friends?

They all sat down, and Ben poured drinks and distributed tankards and flagons. Thatch sat next to the woman, and Ben on her other side, leaving Kenway seated across the table from her. While Ben bustled, Thatch leaned in and said something in the woman’s ear, receiving a nod in return. They were comfortable with each other, comfortable in each other’s space, but Kenway didn’t peg it as romance. Were they related, maybe?

Hornigold, blessed as he was with social graces, filled the slightly awkward silence with talk of the weather that brought them, the raid they had to put on hold, their ships, their crews, and their adventures at sea. Thatch and Kenway supplied commentary when appropriate, and the woman provided the occasional question.

Edward sat and watched the play between Ben and the woman. Slightly awkward, though not hostile or frosty, but not as quietly comfortable as the interplay with Thatch. He studied the woman, trying to figure the puzzle out.  
As he’d noted before, she was tall and strong. She wore dark leather trousers of good quality, which disappeared into sturdy, knee high boots, with knives sheathed at each ankle. She wore a leather corset, inlaid with metal fastenings and detail, securely encasing her chest, which was further hidden by a short sleeved shirt, leaving her strong arms and ample biceps clear to see. A myriad of weapons were strapped to her person. Two swords, four pistols, several knives, and a row of grenades were displayed openly. Her long leather coat was slung over the back of the chair, and Kenway felt sure the many pockets and pouches were doubtless filled with gunpowder, shot, and even more pistols and knives.

Did that explain it? She was very far from Ben’s preferred type of woman. Was the awkwardness just him being intimidated by her? During a lull in Hornigold’s pleasantries, Kenway decided to break in. “So, how do the three of you know each other?”

Ben’s genial smile faltered and he stopped speaking, shooting a glance to the woman at his side. Beside her, Thatch frowned into his mug. The woman gave him a small smile. “It was some years ago. They… aided me. Out at sea.”

Confused at his friends’ reaction to his innocuous question, Kenway looked between her and Ben. “Aided? You were shipwrecked? Attacked?”

She gave another small smile. “Hmm… something like that.”

Ben cleared his throat and tried to get their conversation back to the bland small talk they’d had before. “How’s you business doing, Selinda? Keepin’ you busy?”

“Doing just fine, Ben. Plenty of people need weapons and armour around here. Can’t complain about that.”

Kenway was surprised. He’s never heard of a woman swordsmith before. Without thinking he blurted, “Is that why you’re wearing all that? To advertise your wares?”

Ben choked on his drink and Thatch barked out a laugh. Selinda laughed too. “You know, I’ve yet to experience a pirate come up to me and tell me they want to wear what I’m wearing. I’ve had a few tell me to _take off_ what I’m wearing, but not so they could have the clothes and gear for themselves.”

Kenway blushed and tried to convey an apology through an abashed shrug of his shoulders.

“I wear _all this_ for the same reason you were _all that_. I don’t want to get murdered.”

Edward inclined his head to her and dove deep into his tankard. Ben broke in again. “Your business is booming, so why did we find you sitting here alone in the middle of the day?”

The woman’s face fell into a slight frown, and Kenway saw Thatch send Ben a harsh look. Lifting the tankard to her lips, the woman drank before speaking. “Anniversary.”

Ben looked confused, bewildered even. “Anniversary? No… that’s not for another…”

“Today was my last day in Bristol.”

Kenway saw Ben’s cheeks blaze red, his teeth sinking hard into his lower lip. “What anniversary? Did something happen in Bristol?” He was intrigued. His friends were both acting very strange.

The woman avoided his eyes and drank from her tankard, and Ben looked away into the crowd in the tavern. Thatch shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly, and spoke. “Maybe you should tell him? He is a Captain now, might need to know one day.”

Ben sighed deeply, but nodded and turned to Kenway, beginning his tale.  
  


* * *

They were out in the waters far east of the Bahamas, a hurricane and sea currents having taken them more than halfway to Bermuda before they could turn back to head for more familiar waters. Luckily, they were well stocked and the ship had taken very little damage in the storm, though the vast, unbroken ocean was just beginning to take a toll on their minds. Being used to the myriad of islands, islets, and frequency of ships in their usual West Indies, this emptiness was disconcerting.

Wanting to get back to the Bahamas as quickly as possible, they kept full sail through the nights, aided by the stars and moonlight. This night was clear, not a cloud in sight, and the milky white band of stars above them mirrored in the dark waters below, like a paved road for their ship to follow home. The full moon hung high and bright, illuminating the endless nothing that surrounded them.

Ben rubbed his eyes and suppressed a yawn. He and his quartermaster had split up in separate shifts to keep a firm grasp on their crew as the restless madness of _nothing_ started to creep into their minds. He had relieved Thatch in the early evening after getting more than enough rest, but now, just a few hours later, he was already getting tired again. It was the lack of stimulus, he was sure. Nothing to do or see or experience made his mind want to escape into dreams. Maybe he was already sleeping, standing here on deck. Ben could swear he heard music coming over the water, and scrubbed his hand over his eyes again.

“Ship ho, Captain! Dead ahead!” the lookout called down to him, pointing along the direction of the mirrored road of stars.

Pulling out his spyglass, Ben scanned the sea ahead of them, at first seeing nothing. Eventually, the yellow light of lanterns mingled with the white starlight printed on the waves. Slowly, the outline of a ship rose over the horizon, it’s shape drawn against the darkness by lanterns hanging all over the masts and railings.

The music was clearer now, and with it came the laughter and indistinct voices of the crew. Ben turned to a nearby crewman. “Wake up Thatch.” He didn’t know if they would be raiding the ship or joining in their festivities, but either way, Thatch should be awake for it.

As they got closer, Ben scanned the ship for any identifying markers, but found nothing. No flag was raised, all sails were lowered, and though he could make out the nameplate it did not help him distinguish the ship’s origin or if they were likely friend or foe; _Vrykolakas._ Ben was not skilled with languages, but thought it may be Slavic? Or possibly Mediterranean? 

He could see through his spyglass that the deck was packed full of people. It looked to him like every crewman was in attendance for the festivities the ship lay unmoving under the bright star strewn sky. 

“What do you have?” Thatch spoke from behind him, voice rough with sleep.

“Ship dead ahead, anchored, no flag. Seem to be having a party.”

Thatch stepped up beside him and pulled out his own spyglass. They were still too far out to make out much detail, and Ben pondered what his best strategy would be. As they stared, the voices from the other ship rose higher and crude, raucous laughter spilled over the water towards them. Scanning the deck for a cause, Ben saw what looked to be a woman in a white dress emerge from the bowels of the ship.

He lowered the spyglass and cursed, it did not take a wizard to guess what was about to happen. Glancing at Thatch, he saw his quartermaster’s face pulled into a deep scowl. He was just about to call out to ready the cannons and guns for a warning shot when the lookout gasped. “Captain, look!”

Ben raised the spyglass again. There was a commotion near where the woman had emerged, though it was hard to make out what was going on in the low light, and with so many of the other ship’s crew standing in the way. The men on the _Vrykolakas_ were still laughing and cheering, but Ben heard other sounds begin to lift over the water. Screams and shouts, but none of them from a woman. The crowd shifted and Ben saw her clearly, wielding dual swords and expertly slashing her way through the _Vrykolakas_ crew. Even from their distance, he could see red streaks and splatters on her white dress.

The closer they got, the more of the other crew shifted from laughter to screams. The music stopped, and they heard clearly the cries of pain and anger, and the splashing of bodies hitting the water. They were near enough now that Ben didn’t need the spyglass to see, and so his own crew were beginning to cotton on to what was happening. Their questioning murmurs shifted to shouts of shock, and Ben felt the ship begin to turn. He snapped at the helmsman, angry and frustrated. “What are you doing!? Get us closer!”

The man looked pale and terrified. “But, Captain! The Sea Witch!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Exasperated, he shoved Thatch to take over the helm, and turned his focus back to the other ship. Having taken the other crew by surprise, the woman had started out with the upper hand. The men were clearly not ready for a fight, and most had seemed to be unarmed, but those who now remained, few as they were, had rallied. She was the superior swordsman, but there were more of them than of her, and the fight was made more complicated by the bodies littering the deck. More than once he saw both the woman and her opponents slip and fall on the deck, coming back up again covered in more blood.

They were coming up beside the _Vrykolakas_ now, and Ben could see the deck was covered in blood, the dead bodies creating dams and covering the scuppers. A hard knock on his back pulled his attention back to his own ship. The crew were loudly protesting, yammering about sea witches and she-devils. He wanted to roll his eyes and berate them, but several of his crew had their pistols and swords in trembling hands.

Cursing, he looked at Thatch who had been pushed from the helm by the frightened crew. Neither of them believed in magic, but clearly their crew did, and instead of seeing a woman in distress - a very capable woman, clearly, but in distress nonetheless - they saw her as the villain, as a monster. Looking back at the _Vrykolakas_ , he saw her slip again. The dress was now soaked to a deep crimson, as was her hair and skin.

“Get closer!” he snapped at the helmsman, who shook his head, eyes wide in terror. Stalking over, rage bubbling inside, he grabbed the man by the throat and squeezed. “Get the ship closer! Even if that is a witch over there, how kindly do you think she will take to us if we don’t help her? Get us alongside them! You don’t have to go over there, and you can stop anyone who tries to come over here, but you will get us close enough for me to jump over.”

The crew muttered protests about curses and called out prayers of protection, but Ben ignored them and jumped onto the railing, waiting for them to get near enough to leap across. He saw the woman clashing swords with a large, burly man, while another was crawling towards her, badly injured but still determined to take her down. He spotted a third climbing on the hull, moving into position to jump up and grab her.

Not yet close enough to jump over to the other ship, Ben pulled out his pistols and fired at the man hanging off the hull. It was a clean hit and the body fell dead into the water. The woman had cut her opponent’s throat open, and whipped around at the sound of his shot, raising a sword in his direction, pointing it with a steady hand. Behind her, the crawling man was reaching his hand towards the blood soaked skirt, and Ben shot him too. She jumped at the sound and glanced back at the now dead man, but kept her sword pointed straight at Ben. Her chest was heaving with the effort of her breathing.

Ben put away his pistols and lifted his empty hands. Raising his voice, he called out to her. “We’re here to help. Only to help!” The woman remained frozen, sword pointing for a moment longer, then she lowered it, turned, and disappeared down into the ship.

Finally they were close enough and Ben jumped across to the other ship. The carnage was unfathomable, the deck covered in bodies and blood. In the sea below floated corpses and men too injured to save themselves, their cries and moans rising out of the water around him. Blood was pouring out of the uncovered scuppers, washing over the bodies below. The lanterns above him were still lit, and the moon shone brightly, illuminating the nightmarish scene.

A large table was laying on it’s side near the hatch the woman had appeared from. Heavy metal shackles were attached to the legs, and scattered on the deck were several strange tools, among them a butcher’s knife. Ben stood frozen, staring, and tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

“Ben.”

He jumped and looked around. Thatch was standing next to him, sword out and pointing at a severed head nearby. The face was contorted in a grimase, revealing teeth sharpened to points. Pulling out his own sword, he checked another body, pulling the lip down with the sharp tip. The teeth there were sharpened as well. “What in god’s name is going on here?”

Thatch shook his head and looked at the upturned table. “Nothing good.”

Ben shook himself and focused on his true purpose; finding the woman. “Right. Let’s search the ship. For answers, for more of these _men_ ”, he grimaced, “and for the girl. Be careful if you run into her. She is clearly formidable.”

“Aye.”

They split up. Ben entered the ship through the hatch the woman had disappeared through while Thatch circled around to the other hatch at the bow.

* * *

Descending into the ship, Ben took a moment and let his eyes adjust. He stood listening to the darkness, but heard nothing beyond the natural creaking of the wood, and Thatch entering through the other hatch and immediately descending lower into the ship. Walking slowly along the gun deck, looking and listening for movement, he detected nothing at all. The place was empty, both of crew and the girl.

He reached the steps on the other end of the gun deck where Thatch had decended and looked around. The moonlight shining down from the open hatch above revealed another staircase just ahead, leading up to what he assumed would be the Captain’s cabin. Ben listened at the dark opening Thatch had disappeared into, but heard nothing. He decided to ascend the other steps first to fully clear out the upper decks and ensure they would not be ambushed and trapped below by any hidden crew.

He emerged, cautious, just beside a large desk where a lit candelabra stood. The room was empty of people, but a parrot sat on a perch by the door. It squawked at him as he entered, ruffling its feathers, but settled down quickly and proceeded to ignore him as he moved in the cabin.

Having established the room was empty and no threat would be coming from that direction, Ben was just about to head back down again, when his mind registered the… _decor_ in the room. On the wall opposite the desk hung a large painting of a naked woman. The subject was writhing in pain as several clawed hands dug into her flesh, tearing it open, ripping pieces out. Her blood was pouring down to form a red rose at the bottom of the canvas.  
On a shelf running along the starboard wall lay a row of skulls, white and pristine, with their empty sockets staring ahead. In front of each skull lay a pair of skeletal hands, crossed at the fingers, as if a lady holding her hands demurely in her lap. On the opposite wall hung several long braids of hair in different colors, and on the floor in front of them stood an articulated skeleton, wearing a white linen shift and white stays. Ben would bet anything it was that he’d seen the fighting woman wear.

Turning back to the hatch, he saw two large glass jars on the desk. One seemed to be filled with teeth. The other full of eyes, suspended in some murky liquid. Ben felt the bile rise in his throat. What the _fuck_ had they stumbled upon here?

Outside from the deck he heard raised voices, and he hurried over to the door, sword in hand. Thatch stood on the railing, shouting at their crew.

“What’s going on? Did you find the girl?”

Thatch turned to him red-faced and angry. “I found dozens of them! Deep down in the hold, trapped in cages. I can’t get them out without tools, or searching all these bodies for the keys. But these _simpletons_ won’t help.”

Ben cursed in frustration and gnashed his teeth. He hopped on to the railing next to Thatch and shouted to his crew over the water. “It is clear to me from exploring this ship, that the woman we saw is not a witch, but a victim of the crew on this ship. It is this dead crew who are the villains, and have suffered the fate they justly deserve. Now, my _cowardly_ crew, I do not expect any of you to set foot on this ship, not when it’s such a _frightening_ prospect for you. In fact, stay over there with my blessing, and prevent any of these demon crewmen from taking over our ship. Meanwhile, however, Mr Thatch and myself have damsels in distress to rescue, and you _will_ toss over the tools we need to accomplish that task.”

His crew grumbled, but tossed over a hammer and chisel. He called out to them again, in a taunting voice. “If any of you manage to find your pluck and courage again, do feel free to join us over here, as there seems to be an abundance of damsels to rescue, and if you help, we may get away from here quicker.”

With that, he hopped down from the railing and turned to Thatch. “Where are they?”

“Down in the hold, stern side, in a walled off room. Bring a light, it’s pitch black down there.”

“Right. I’ll go down there and you go find the girl and… I don’t know. _Help_ her.” Thatch nodded and disappeared below again.

* * *

  
Ben snatched up a lantern and the tools, and followed Thatch down into the bowels of the ship. This time, he went straight down, past the gundeck, and moved quickly towards the stern, lantern held high. When he passed the opening to the galley, he froze in his steps and turned slowly to the doorway. Just inside sat a man at a table, grinning at him with sharpened, pointed teeth. As he watched, the man lifted what looked like a large piece of raw meat to his mouth and sunk his teeth into the flesh, ripping a large chunk free and chewing it obscenely. Shocked, Ben realized the man was holding a skinned forearm, hand still attached. A human forearm.

From the steps came two of his crew, lanterns and pistols raised. “Captain?”

He turned his head towards them, but before he could speak, the man in the galley leapt over the table and threw himself at him. They grappled with each other, Ben trying to push the man away and the madman trying to get close enough to bite, jaw snapping in the air. Two shots rang out in the narrow space and the feral man dropped to the floor. His crewmen stood at his side, wide-eyed and pale-faced, with their gun-barrels smoking.

“Thank you, gentlemen. I think it best you reload those, just in case.” He drew his own pistol and took a cautious step into the galley, searching for other survivors. Ben felt the bile rising in his throat again. There were two human legs hanging from the ceiling, and part of a flayed torso lay on a chopping block, as if he’d just stepped into some macabre butcher shop. He heard his crewmen vomiting behind him, and felt a sympathetic roiling in his own stomach. Picking up a lit lantern from the table to replace the one he’d dropped in the scuffle, he stepped back out of the galley.

“Captain? What is going on here?” His crewman, Bryce, had a hand between the shoulder-blades of his comrade, who was still spitting bile onto the floor.

“I don’t know. But do you believe me now, that it’s not that poor woman who’s the threat here?” Bryce nodded, looking grim.

They continued together deeper into the ship, occasionally spotting a dead body. Surely, deserving victims of the woman’s sword.

As they neared the stern section of the hold, they saw more of the white linen shifts and stays like the one in the Captain’s cabin. Here, they were nailed to the walls in long rows, the fabric cut and torn, soiled brown and maroon. At the end of the display, they reached the walled-off room, where the door stood ajar, light from a lantern spilling out, presumably left by Thatch. Ben was not going to be taking any chances though and pushed the door open slowly, keeping his pistol ready, and his lantern held high.

* * *

The room held scores of small cages, stacked three high, and just as Thatch had said, dussins of women were trapped inside.   
The smell in the room was overpowering, it _reeked_ of shit, piss, vomit, blood, and sweat. Ben guessed that the women were never let out of the cages, but forced to do their business where they lay.

The caged women had been quietly sobbing and whimpering, but as the three of them entered, several of them started screaming in terror. Ben swept his eyes and lantern over the room to ensure no feral crew lurked in the dark corners, and once satisfied, sat his lantern on top of the nearest cage and spoke loudly. “We are here to rescue you! You are safe now! The crew of this nightmare ship are dead. I am Captain Benjamin Hornigold, and these are my crewmen. We will get you out of these cages and onto my ship.”

Some of the screaming subsided, but most of the women were still sobbing, cowering at the back of their cages. “We are not part of the crew of this ship! See? Our teeth are normal.” He bared his teeth in a grimace and saw his crewmen follow suit, but it did little to calm and quiet the frightened women.

Deciding the best course of action would be to release the women who seemed the least hysterical first, to prove to the other's it was safe, Ben stepped up to a cage holding a woman who was staring silently at them, and held his chisel to the latch. As he struck the hammer down, a loud metallic boom rang throughout the small space, and all the cages vibrated. The sound set the women screaming again, but Ben ignored it in favour of breaking the lock.

It didn’t take too many strikes for the latch to break open, and he moved on to the next cage, letting his crewmen deal with getting the woman out. Once he had opened three cages, he turned to his crew. “Get these women topside and transferred to our ship. And bring back more tools to open these cages with.” He turned to the released women. “Ladies, your ordeal is almost over. However, I must caution you. This ship is filled with many ghastly sights, and full of the dead bodies of the former crew. Stay strong.”

* * *

  
  


He had opened six more cages by the time Bryce returned with four additional men. The new arrivals gasped and retched at the sight and smells, but soon found their strength again and started ferrying the women out and over to their ship. Ben and Bryce made quick work of the remaining cages, and soon all the women who could walk had left. What remained were a couple of catatonic women who seemed to not be aware of their surroundings at all, and a few who were too afraid to leave their cages, pressing their bodies hard against their iron prisons, trembling with fear, screaming in terror.

Starting with the catatonic women, the men lifted them gently, and carried them over to their ship. The remaining women, however, could not be coaxed out and Ben decided they would have to use force. As he and his crew ripped them forcibly from their cages, his stomach clenched uncomfortably, certain he was causing the women additional psychic harm.

The woman in his arms fainted as he pulled her out, her hands, having gripped the iron so hard her skin tore open, fell lax to her sides, and he carried her through the ship and up on deck. Topside, his crew had cleared a path through the bodies and placed a plank between their vessels. He stepped across gingerly and placed the woman he was carrying down onto the deck with the others.

Once he ensured all his crew and captive women were safely aboard the ship, he ordered the nightmare of a ship to be scuttled, and set sail for the nearest British controlled settlement.  
  
  


* * *

The rain outside had stopped, and the tavern was less crowded than when they arrived. Empty bottles now littered their table, and the candles around the tavern had burned low as Ben told his tale.

Kenway stared in disbelief, waiting for their solemn faces to break into smiles and taunts over him believing such a ridiculous story. But they didn’t. They all sat in grim silence, drinking deep from their tankards. “Really?” Thatch and Ben gave short, terse nods and drank deeper. Selinda stared at him unflinching. “That really happened to you?” She nodded. “I… I’m sorry. I don't know what else to say.”

He took a drink and stared at the woodgrain on the table for a while. “Wait… what happened to the woman? I mean, to you? Did Thatch find you or… I mean, obviously he found you, you’re here, but…” Kenway trailed off awkwardly, feeling a blush heat his face.

Selinda smiled gently at him, but it was Ben who spoke. “You know, I have no idea what happened after Thatch and I split up that second time. There wasn’t much time to talk on the voyage back, what with all our terrorized passengers and very rattled crew. And once we got to a friendly port and handed the ladies over to the authorities, we never really spoke about what happened that night. Not exactly a fond memory... What _did_ happen on your end, Thatch?”

But Thatch only gave a tight smile, and gestured at Selinda with his tankard. She took a deep drink before speaking.  
  
  


* * *

The man standing on the railing had shot the last remaining crew on the deck. She debated whether he and his ship might be another threat, or salvation, but decided it didn’t matter. The ship she was on needed to be searched for surviving crew and the women needed to be released from their cages. Descending to the lower decks, the blood-soaked shift began to weigh her down, the fabric stiffening with drying, congealing blood, restricting her movements.

She encountered a few crewmen in her search of the ship and killed them with relative ease, but her arms were beginning to shake, and she couldn’t get her breathing under control, each breath coming faster, pulled from deeper in her lungs, like there was not enough air left inside the ship.

Entering the crew quarters, she stepped cautiously, searching the nooks and crannies for any hidden men that needed to be dispatched. Suddenly, she was shoved to the floor and her swords clattered across the wood, out of her reach. She tried to get up, but her legs twisted in the sticky, stiff fabric of her skirt and she only managed to turn onto her side before her attacker threw himself on top of her, wrapping his hands around her neck. Straining and struggling underneath him, her awkward angle made it impossible to get purchase on anything, and she could not move herself enough to turn over or grip him to fight his hold.

Then her hand impacted with his side and she felt the hilt of a knife in his belt. Her vision was blacking out, but she pulled the blade and stabbed it wildly and awkward in the direction of the man above her. A warm spray of blood hit her face and the hands around her neck slackened. She turned and twisted the knife into the flesh until the heavy body of the crewman fell limp on top of her, crushing her into the rough wooden planks.

Twisting and pushing until she could crawl out from under him, she stood, panting and shaking in the middle of the room. Her heart was booming in her chest, her breaths were painful, metal-tasting gasps, and there was a loud buzzing in her ears drowning out all sound. The clothes, she had to get out of the clothes, they were so heavy, so tight, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t _move_. With shaking fingers, she pulled at the laces holding the stays together, but they wouldn’t budge, the blood had congealed into a sticky mess, and the knots had swelled tight with the moisture. She continued to desperately struggle and tear at the fabric, trying to suck in enough air, trying to make her fingers stay still enough to wedge her fingernails into the tight knots. Then a change in the light made her look up.

In the doorway stood a man holding a lantern and a sword. They both stood frozen in place, staring at each other, until she glanced away for a second, looking for her swords. They were still on the floor, closer to him than to her, she could not get to them before he did. She looked back, measuring him up. Could she take him, unarmed, shaking, gasping for breath as she was? Could she turn and run, could she make it far enough to lose him, to reach the other ship?

His lips moved as if speaking, but she couldn’t hear him over the buzzing still filling her ears. The teeth of the man looked normal though, so he must be from the other ship. He moved slowly and deliberately as he sheathed his sword and placed his lantern on a crate by the doorway. With hands raised to show empty palms, he moved cautiously into the room, lips still moving in silent speech. Walking about the space, he searched trunks and satchels, and placed his findings on the crate next to the lantern. A clean linen tunic, a pair of trousers, a bar of soap, and a large sheet of cloth. Bundling the items up, he held them and the lantern, and gestured for her to follow.

She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but she walked after him. Maybe his speech had penetrated her mind unknowingly, and reassured some inner part of her that he was safe. Or maybe she was just too tired, too exhausted, too spent to go on alone and just had to trust _someone_ withher continued survival.

* * *

They made their way up through the ship and onto the deck, where he led her to the ship’s boat and placed the bundle inside, before helping her in and lowering them into the water. Taking the oars, he rowed them a few yards away from the ship. They were on the far side of the ship, shielded from view. The man pulled out a knife and spoke to her, but she could still only hear the buzzing in her ears.

Slow and cautious, he brought the knife to the lacing on the stays and cut them. He pulled the garment free and tossed it carelessly into the water. Urging her to carefully stand up, he pulled the shift over her head and tossed that as well. Strong hands gripped her waist and lifted her over the railing and into the sea. The cold hit her like a punch, making her gasp and flail, but the man took hold of her hands and brought them to the side of the boat, where she clung shaking with cold and exhaustion.

Guiding her head backward into the water, he dragged his fingers over her scalp and through her hair, rinsing the blood out. Once most of it had washed away into the sea, the man took the soap and lathered her hair and scalp thoroughly. He soaped his hands and rubbed the rough, calloused palms over her face, his fingers delving into the whorls of her ears, over her eyelids, into her nostrils, even into her mouth, cleaning her everywhere the blood had reached. Pushing at her gently to submerge her head, she felt his fingers move over her skin and through her hair to help rinse out all traces of soap and blood.

He lifted her back out of the water and made her stand in front of him. The air felt impossibly cold on her naked wet skin, and she fought not to shake so hard she upturned the boat. He soaped his hands again and washed her shivering body clean of blood and any smeared traces of her time in the cage. As thorough now as when washing her face, his soaped hands stroked her everywhere with practical efficiency, no trace of indulgence or titillation on his part. Armpits, breasts, navel, labia, toes, fingers, the cleft of her bottom all received swipes from his calloused palms and fingers, slicked with soap. 

Lifting her back into the water to rinse off made her gasp again at the temperature change, but he soon lifted her back out and dried her skin and hair with the sheet of cloth. Tossing it away when done, he helped her into the clothes he’d taken from the crew quarters and then she sat, clean, damp and shivering, while the man rowed them around to his ship.

The man helped her climb aboard, but once on deck, exhaustion washed over her, making her knees give out and dropping her down onto the rough planks. He lifted her into his arms, and carried her down deep into the ship, to a small room with a smaller cot. Laying her down, he tucked her in under old, worn sheets and disappeared out the door. She fell asleep immediately, but was soon woken when the man returned. He had brought a small bowl of cold, congealed stew and a tankard of ale. As exhausted as she was, she ate and drank with vigor. The paltry meal seemed the best she’d had in her life.  
Once finished, however, her body couldn’t keep her awake any longer, and she slipped into a long, deep sleep.  
  


* * *

  
“I was asleep for days, and by the time I woke up, we were nearing the Bahamas and the end of our journey.”

Kenway felt a little slack-jawed. Her account of Thatch was quite different from the man he knew. Not that Kenway thought his friend would have harmed the woman, but her tale painted him as a much more kind, caring and attentive man than he had thought he was.

“Well, gentlemen.” Selinda drained her drink and stood up, pulling her coat on. “It’s been quite a night, but it’s late and time for me to head back.” She reached out and shook Ben’s and Kenway’s hands.

Thatch stood up as well. “I’ll walk you back. We didn’t really get a chance to catch up yet.”

With that, Kenway was alone at the table with Ben. He felt a small ball of shame in his stomach. If he’d been in Thatch’s shoes, he would’ve just gotten the woman over to their ship and thought he had done enough. Thought himself heroic even. _Maybe_ he’d have stretched far enough to give her a change of clothes and a damp rag. _Maybe_.

He glanced at Ben and wondered if he was thinking the same thing. His friend bore a slight frown and was staring into his drink. “Is it really true?”

Ben sighed heavily. “Yes. It is. It was worse than I told, though. I don’t like thinking about it.”

“What happened to all those women?”

Ben rolled the bottle he was drinking from between his hands for a moment before answering. “Lost a few on the way. Sickness and self-harm. We plucked thirty out of those cages, and twentyfour made it back to civilization. We sailed to the nearest friendly port to resupply, but then continued on to Kingston. Needed a large town with better facilities to help the poor souls. Haven’t kept track of them after that.”

Kenway shook his head and drank. “Jaysus.”

“ _She_ got off the ship at that first stop, though. Turns out she’s a wanted criminal back in Britain, and needs to stay far away from any legal authority. Selinda isn’t even her real name. Refused to give that. Selinda’s just Latin for secret.” He shrugged. “Had to call her _something_.”

  
They sat quietly for a few minutes before Kenway spoke again. “Have you ever seen or heard of anything like that before or since?”

“Sometimes I hear rumors, but never anything firm. Not sure if there are other bands of monsters roaming these waters, or if it’s just the legacy of that single ship that lives on.” Ben gestured to the barkeep for more bottles. “Just promise me, Kenway. If you ever hear a credible rumor, you hunt it down and kill the bastards.”

Kenway raised his tankard in solemn salute. “I swear.”  
  


They stayed at the tavern late into the night, drinking silently, until the barkeep kicked them out.

The End.

* * *

_There are so many monsters in the world and all of them are humans._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Stays are a type of corset that were common at the time. They were in two halves and laced together front and back.  
> A shift was the long, nightgown-esque garment worn under the stays.  
> And then the real clothes were worn over that.  
> So in this story, the women are basically forced to wear bra and panties and nothing else.
> 
> Scuppers are the holes that let water from the deck pour out, so it doesn’t get flooded.
> 
> I tried to research (ha! google.) if lifeboats were a thing back in these times, and the answer was an inconclusive ‘No’. But there seems to have been a “ship’s boat”, more for the purpose of ferrying crewmen to shore, rather than saving lives, so that’s what Thatch is using.
> 
>   
> Regarding the name of the ship.  
> From Wikipedia: Vrykolakas is a harmful, undead creature in Greek folklore. It shares similarities with numerous other legendary creatures, but is generally equated with the vampire of the folklore of the neighbouring Slavic countries. While the two are very similar, vrykolakas eat flesh, particularly livers, rather than drink blood, which combined with other factors such as its appearance bring it more in line with the modern concept of a zombie.
> 
> Does this mean the men on that ship were evil creatures out of folklore? Sure, if that makes you feel better, but to me... the is nothing so heinous, so evil, so monstrous, so frightening as a human being.


End file.
